


Disquiet

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [13]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25956763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: The Divine Conclave looms ever nearer, and no one can deny the atmosphere of disquiet that has settled over Thedas and permeated the hearts of those awaiting its arrival.
Series: Herald of Change [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Disquiet

_Haven, Ferelden; Matrinalis (August), 9:41 Dragon_

Cullen rubbed his temples with the forefingers of both hands as he sat in his makeshift office, trying to numb the onset of yet another headache. He slowly let his eyes slide shut, and he could practically _feel_ the vibration of the multitude of voices in the Chantry through his arms, which were propped atop his desk as he held his head. Scattered between his elbows were reports from attending parties and mercenaries unaffiliated with either the mages or the Templars, and they provided him with valuable information on the state of the Conclave’s security. Alongside Shokrakar of the Valo-Kas and Captain Aldric of the Lames D’Argent, there were two new leaders who communicated with him via runners – Commander Jordanis of yet another hired mercenary company, the Wildcats of Nevarra, and one Daerdir of Clan Lavellan, who had come to represent the interests of the elves of the Free Marches. These companies’ messengers prevented him from having to make the long trek back and forth from the Temple every day, and they also kept the Divine’s Hands from having to add message-ferrying to their growing list of duties.

Judging from the varied accounts he had been given, the mercenaries were able to control the situation at the Temple entirely on their own thus far, especially with the frequent watchful presence of both Hands of the Divine. Thus, the commander was not particularly worried with the security of the grounds of the Temple itself. It was the environs around _Haven_ that had Cullen concerned. There, camped around the village, were low-ranking members of both sides of the conflict who were not important enough to have their voices heard during the Conclave itself. The Chantry had long run out of room for the mages, and so now the settlement served as the physical barrier between them and their Templar opposition. Cullen was at the limit of his recruiting capacity without formally asking for reinforcements from Empress Celene and King Alistair, and if the number of visitors became much larger, he would not have enough men to properly secure the area. What soldiers he _did_ have were already experiencing enough difficulties; there had been more than a dozen attempts over the past few months on the part of both the mages and the Templars to incite fighting and rioting in the streets, and Haven had almost caught fire _twice_ from rogue magic.

Needless to say, their hands were full.

On top of the threat posed by the mages and the Templars, he had the constant presence of the Chantry busybodies and noble dignitaries to put up with. Once the mages had vacated the premises of Haven’s Chantry, the Grand Clerics’ retinues had swiftly replaced them. Ambassador Josephine had worked miracles accommodating all of the attendees and their endless train of associates, but Cullen highly suspected that Haven could take no more guests without physically bursting at the seams.

And if he had to overhear one more conversation about Sister Elisa’s “positively _scandalous_ ” possession of a copy of _The Randy Dowager Quarterly_ , he was certain that his _brain_ would burst at the seams.

 _Why in Andraste’s name do they insist on standing around_ my _door to talk?_

Suddenly, as if sent by the Maker himself, Sister Nightingale entered, scattering the gossiping old birds outside as she swept into the office and closed the door behind her in one fluid movement. She gave him a knowing smile as she beheld him sitting there, and her blue eyes twinkled almost impishly as she asked, “Are you quite all right, Commander?”

He sighed forcefully and gathered the reports in front of him, stacking them neatly atop a growing pile on the corner of the desk, next to a painfully-empty inventory ledger. “I just need to get away from this incessant chatter for a moment.”

Her smile widened. “Then perhaps I have the perfect excuse for you. Come with me outside. There is something I want to talk with you about, and it could do with a few less ears to hear.”

Curiosity piqued, he nodded and acquiesced to her request. “Very well, Sister. Lead on.”

Standing, he then pushed in his chair and followed Leliana out of the Chantry, appreciating the opportunity to get away from both the paperwork and the noise. The gossips in the main hall ceased their prattle for a few moments as they watched the two leaders pass, and then resumed their talk in more hushed tones once they were certain the pair was well out of earshot.

As they continued on through the town, weaving their way in and out between loitering groups of people, Cullen wondered what it was that Leliana wished to speak of in a private setting. He could count on one hand the number of true conversations the two of them had had – those outside of obligatory meetings or Chantry-related matters – since they had met the previous year. He had attempted to start a few in their early days of working together, but her reception to such was detached at best, and so he had decided to leave the initiation to her from then on. The Nightingale did not choose to talk with him in casual discussions nearly as often as Cassandra, and, for a long time, he had wondered if Leliana disliked him on some level, despite the cordialness with which she always addressed him. After some observing, however, it was apparent that the number of close acquaintances she had was very small indeed, Josephine one among them, and she seemed to consciously hold everyone else at the same polite distance, regardless of how long they worked together. He had to admit that it was a practical practice; closeness inevitably invited emotional attachment, which could prove dangerously detrimental to the success of operations.

Thus, this rather sudden initiation of a private conversation on her part was rather surprising, but not unwelcome. While he was not purposefully seeking her friendship, he hoped that they could at least speak to each other more comfortably than they had been, especially if the Inquisition was to take shape as expected.

When at last Sister Nightingale stopped, she had arrived at the broken pier on the frozen lake. She leaned against one of the posts and he slowly drew up beside her, likewise leaning on another post on the opposite side of the pier. For several long moments, she was silent as she looked out at the scenery before them. Then, finally, she spoke, her eyes focused on the shining ice ahead.

“So… it is almost here. A day that will change the world forever.” She glanced downwards and chuckled to herself. “I cannot say ‘the’ day, as there have been many days that have changed Thedas forever, for better or worse. But we are fast approaching another one. You can always feel it.” The Nightingale then cast her sharp, blue-eyed gaze his way and added, “You know of what I speak, no?”

“Yes, I know the feeling well,” he replied, nodding slowly in understanding. He was well aware of that sensation that heralded either a rebirth or impending doom. “Kirkwall is the first instance that comes to mind.”

“For me, it is the day we faced the Archdemon in Denerim, during the Blight,” she continued. “I truly felt as though the Maker was on our side that day, and I knew we would be victorious before the battle was ever begun, even if I myself did not live to see it. The Warden was just that type of person.” Leliana shook her head, and it was obvious that she was sunk deep into old memories as she returned to staring at the vast expanse of ice. “She would threaten to kill me for making the comparison, but she was just like one of those heroes from the old tales.”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he remembered the Hero of Ferelden, now the country’s esteemed Warden-Queen. “I know I have said it before,” he said quietly, “but I do wish I had been in better shape to thank her for what she did at the Circle. I would not be alive if it weren’t for her, nor would a great many others who were trapped there.”

Leliana chuckled. “You would be wasting your breath, I’m afraid. Her Majesty never liked to be thanked overmuch for her help. She would have seen it as the right thing to do at the time, with no need for thanks. She was always so sure of her duty. She knew what needed to be done, many times before anyone asked her, and she was not afraid to do it.”

“It sounds as if she would have indeed been the perfect choice for Inquisitor.”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “I have been trying to contact her ever since we arrived here in Ferelden, but to no avail. Even with my new informants, I cannot locate her. It is very…troubling.” She sighed, “Sometimes I wish she were here. She could put this entire situation to rest quickly. I know she could.” There were a few moments of silence, and she looked at him again with a shrug. “But, even if she _were_ around to contact, I’m not sure she would agree to do it. She has a great many responsibilities on her shoulders already, as both Warden-Commander and Queen. Perhaps the Maker knows that leading the Inquisition was not her purpose, and that is why she has been hidden from me.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Being Inquisitor atop both those responsibilities would be difficult to manage, I agree.”

Leliana was silent again for several long moments, and the relaxed demeanor she had initially possessed seemed to dissolve slowly as she continued, raising her chin. “There was a time when we could do more together, but those days are long over. It seems our paths have been separated indefinitely. Even if I long for a simpler time when we could have helped the world as mere adventurers, I know that my purpose now is serving the Divine.”

She met his eyes once more, and he noticed that her gaze seemed… harder? Colder? It was difficult to describe.

“But, that brings me to what made me start thinking about all this to begin with,” she continued. “There will be Grey Wardens at the Conclave. They arrived about three days ago… a rather ragtag-looking group of representatives from Orlais. It is strange to have a Warden delegation at any sort of official function of the Chantry, but it is also little wonder that they have expressed an interest in witnessing the proceedings. A great many mages fled the war into their ranks, and they likely are concerned about how their new recruits will be seen by the rest of the world.”

“A great many Templars left the Order to join them as well,” Cullen remarked.

“So I hear. The Wardens, as a general rule, operate outside the authority of nations, and even that of the Chantry. There is a certain freedom in serving them, despite the significant… drawbacks. Not only can volunteers join their ranks, but members are also able to forcibly conscript recruits by way of ancient treaties, which makes them a rather significant force with which to contend, politically as well as physically.”

This time, it was Cullen who crossed his arms, as he began to understand where she was headed with the conversation. “You think they will put their powers of conscription to use should the Conclave not end well?”

“I have no doubt that they will attempt to salvage as much of both organizations as they can,” she replied. “Even if there is no Blight, there is always the threat of darkspawn in the Deep Roads. Not only that, but the Wardens of Ferelden in particular are still weak from the Fifth Blight, even though it is ten years past already. Mages and Templars added to their ranks would bolster their forces a great deal. If I were an officer of the Wardens, I would not waste the opportunity.” She sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “In any case, it will certainly be interesting to see if the Wardens publically offer anything during the Conclave, or if they will wait until after it is over. Or, if they do anything at all. Their delegation is not very large, so perhaps they are merely ferrying word back to the First Warden in Weisshaupt.”

“We shall see soon enough, I suppose.”

“That we shall. The day cannot come fast enough, and I am sure that you feel the same.” Then, she seemed to glimpse something move out of the corner of her eye, and she glanced away; following her gaze, he saw Rylen heading towards them with a friendly wave, the silverite of the Templar’s gauntlet flashing in the sun. At that, Leliana dipped her head to Cullen with a small smile. “It looks like your second wants to have a word with you. Until later, then, Commander.”

She pushed off of the pier and departed quickly, walking at a brisk and purposeful pace back towards the village. Cullen watched as she left, thinking about her words, and then nodded in greeting to the approaching Knight-Captain.

“Commander. I just thought I’d pass the word along - we just had another mage delegation arrive.”

Cullen’s brows rose. “Another? From where?”

Rylen tossed his armored hands in the air. “Free Marches. Markham, Ansburg, Ostwick, Hasmal… looks like they all decided to come together. Some Senior Enchanters and an Archmage went on to the Temple with some of the scouts. We already have the rest in the mage camp. There were a few Templars from Hasmal acting as escorts, and they’re settled as well.”

“Good,” Cullen replied with an approving nod, beginning to walk back towards the village himself. Rylen followed silently for a long while, and then remarked, “I just hope that’s the end of the new arrivals. Soon, we’re not going to have enough supplies to go around to make sure everyone is fed before the Conclave gets here.”

“Or recruits to keep order,” Cullen added pointedly. “The number we do have is dangerously low, I’m afraid.”

“Aye,” Rylen agreed as he walked beside him. “Sometimes it feels like this whole thing is one prayer away from falling apart. The Maker must be on our side indeed for us to get as far as we have.”

Not long after the two men entered the town gates, Varric meandered over to them with a half-smile on his face. “There you are. Saw you make quite a quick getaway from the Chantry with the Nightingale. Are you as ready for this thing to be over as I am?”

“Nobles keeping you busy, Tethras?” Rylen teased before Cullen could respond.

Varric chuckled. “Tell me about it. I’ve been signing so many autographs it feels like my hand is going to fall off. Was this the Seeker’s real punishment for me? Confining me indefinitely in a village full of rabid fans?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen replied with a smirk as he then saw Cassandra approaching behind the dwarf. “She could probably think of worse things.”

“Are you talking about me?” the Seeker herself inquired when she finally neared, her lip curling as she glanced suspiciously at Varric.

“Only regarding your best traits, I promise.” He winked back at her.

“Ugh.”

“That reminds me.” Cullen suddenly remembered something he wished to talk with the Seeker about, and if she had a moment, he thought he had better seize it before something else came up. “Cassandra, if I might have a word?”

“Of course, Commander. What about?” she asked, cocking her head curiously at him.

“Let us speak of it privately,” he gestured towards his cabin, and Rylen and Varric perceptively took that as a cue to leave, both of them heading in opposite directions to find something else to occupy them.

Her brows rose, but she answered with a nod of affirmation, “Of course.”

He led the way to his cabin, and once they reached it, he closed the door behind him and locked it so that no runners would disturb them with reports or message deliveries. The Seeker wandered over to a side table and leaned on it, politely waiting in silence as he gathered his thoughts. He found himself looking at anything but her as he pondered how he should begin. Even though his decision had already been made, telling her about it somehow seemed even harder than actually going through with his choice…

“You recall I told you I left in Kirkwall everything that I never wanted to see again?”

“Yes, I remember,” she replied, her somewhat puzzled expression hinting that she already wondered where this conversation was going.

“That… was not true in its entirety,” he continued. “I brought my lyrium kit with me, and I have been increasingly sickened by that fact ever since. I convinced myself that I might still need the abilities I learned as a Templar here in Haven, and to use them I needed the lyrium. But I found that it was just a convenient excuse to make me feel more at ease. In reality, I was afraid of the consequences of quitting.”

She slowly nodded. “That is understandable.”

He shook his head, swallowing hard as he met Cassandra’s dark gaze. “But such fear will haunt my life no more. I’ve stopped taking it. Forever. Not a single drop more.”

At that, her eyes widened, and her brows arched high as she comprehended the choice he had made. For the first time since he had met her, Cassandra looked truly stunned.

“You… you have? But you know that-”

“Yes. I do. And I accept it.” He replied shortly, perhaps more tersely than he had intended. He paced back and forth before the door as his thoughts rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he felt his voice grow heavy with emotion as the words suddenly began to spill from him, propelled by passion.

“I want _nothing_ more to do with my life as a Templar, and I cannot separate myself from that life without abandoning everything that _makes_ me a Templar. But it’s not just that, is it? It’s not just a tool or a means to an end. No. It is a _noose_ placed around my neck by the Chantry, and I wish to be shed of it. If I am to serve the Divine’s cause as Commander of her Inquisition, then I will do so a free man, with nothing holding me down or back. The Maker has seen fit to grant me another chance to do right… a new beginning, and I will not squander it by fearfully clinging to the last vestiges of a failed past!”

When he finally looked up, he saw Cassandra watching him intently, almost slack-jawed. Anticipating what arguments she might make, he added, “I will not be afraid of what is to come. I will not fear pain. I will not fear death.”

There were several breaths of silence, then, and his left hand almost subconsciously gripped the hilt of his sword, as if he were drawing strength and stability from the weapon that hung at his hip. Surprisingly, even though he had expected her to, she offered no objection or admonishment concerning this decision. At least, not yet.

“Our agreement has not changed, however. If the Inquisition is formed, as we believe it will be,” he continued at length, “then I swear to you that I _will_ command its forces to the best of my abilities, just as I agreed to do in Kirkwall. Whatever the pain this decision of mine causes upon my person, I will bear it for as long as I am able. But I also know that the withdrawals may eventually take a toll on my ability to lead.” He met her gaze and straightened. “If that time comes, Seeker… if you see me falter… if you see me unable to command your men any longer without risking lives and jeopardizing the Inquisition… I ask that you strip me of my position and find a proper replacement. I trust only your judgment in this matter.”

Her eyes searched his for several long moments, and her expression shifted from one of surprise and almost awe to one that was unreadable. The silence around them was heavy, almost oppressive, and for a moment he wondered if she would dismiss him then and there, thinking him already a liability to the cause.

At last, however, she nodded and replied simply, “Very well. It will be as you wish, Commander.”

Relief flooded him, and he inclined his head to her respectfully. “Thank you, Seeker.”

“And,” she went on, pausing a moment to gather her thoughts before finally continuing, “I feel I must tell you that I respect your decision. I know that quitting lyrium is not something a Templar does easily, and your willingness to endure whatever comes from such a choice speaks greatly of your personal fortitude. I think what you are doing is very brave, and I pray that the Maker grants you the strength to see it through.”

With that, she pushed off from the table and moved to leave. However, before she reached the door, she clapped a hand on his shoulder and added with a small smile, “And if you want to know how I feel about it, I think you will, Commander.” Then, the Seeker departed the cabin and gently closed the door behind her to give him a few moments to himself. When he finally found the voice to respond, it was but a murmur in the empty air.

“I hope you’re right.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a chaotic place, Haven.

Danlan curled his hands around a mug of cocoa as he sat before the fire in the middle of the mage encampment, staring into the flickering flames. He remembered how the serving girl had nervously handed it to him after asking if anyone wanted one of the steaming beverages she held atop a large tray. Fear permeated the air; the mages, especially those who had not rebelled against their Circles, feared the camp of rebel Templars, feared the outcome of the Conclave, feared at any moment that the anxious nobles and residents would pounce on them with dogs and scythes and pitchforks. On top of that, within the encampment itself, there was tension mounting – those who had rebelled seethed at those who hadn’t, and vice versa.

Furthermore, the “soldiers” guarding the camps and patrolling the village to maintain order were little comfort. They wore no uniforms, merely ragtag bits and pieces of armor and weapons they had managed to buy off of whatever merchants dared travel to these remote parts. As Danlan understood it, the Chantry’s answer to its army being shattered was emergency recruitment of a peasant militia and the hiring of desperate sellswords who hadn’t been lucky enough to have their services bought by the Empress or the Grand Duke for their civil war. The elf was not sure that, if a true battle broke out, this patchwork company of enforcers would be able to stop it.

Thus, like many who gathered silently around the fire, waiting for the Conclave to arrive, Danlan prayed to the Maker and his bride to deliver them swiftly from this damned torturous existence. The day could not come soon enough.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

_Val Chevin, the Empire of Orlais; Matrinalis (August), 9:41 Dragon_

It was almost time for the Conclave.

As he sat on the edge of his cot in Val Chevin’s Chantry, Donovan’s thoughts of the Divine’s upcoming meeting were bitter. He had hoped that, with time and the monotony of staying in one place, his company would change their minds about going to Ferelden; they were sick of travel after they had first arrived in Orlais, that was true, but he _knew_ them – these were men and women of action. They would grow restless and want to do more about their situation and the war in general than just guard doors and play fetch for Mother Hanna. It was inevitable.

But he was wrong. When the time had come to make a final decision, and he had brought them together and asked them about it again, they still insisted that they stay well away from the Conclave and the parties traveling to the Chantry affair. It would only result in their deaths, they said. True peace could never be achieved via a meeting, they said, even one held by the Divine herself. For them, doing good works in Val Chevin in the name of what the Order _should_ have been was the only way to redeem the Templars in the eyes of the people.

The last he had heard of her, Verana was quite the esteemed mage at Ostwick. If she had survived the collapse of her Circle and had received word of the Divine Conclave as they had, then he was certain that she would go to the peace talks as a representative of the Circle. He felt it in his gut that it was something she would do. He was sure, too, that it would have been a chance for them to find each other and, if the peace talks failed, they could flee and weather the storm together and no longer have to worry about one or the other being alive anymore.

But his comrades wouldn’t budge. And he could not just abandon them and go by himself. His honor would not let him. Yet, in doing his duty as their commanding officer to look out for their well-being and bending to the will of his charges, Donovan felt he had passed up perhaps the only opportunity to be reunited with his little sister.

He had never before felt so conflicted about his duty and so disgusted with his life… the life he had been _shoved_ into by his bastard of a father, who had offered him up as a sacrifice to uphold the Trevelyan reputation. Despite this truth, the Order had once been a haven to which he had willingly fled to escape his dysfunctional family. But now it felt like nothing but a chain holding him back.

He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head as he swallowed his anger and prepared to face the day. If only he had been born with Roland’s selfishness and Jocelyn’s nerve…


End file.
